


Proof of Purchase

by nightmare_kisser



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blindfolds, Boss/Employee Relationship, Claiming, Fisting, Hickeys, Light Bondage, Light Dirty Talk, Light Dom/sub, Light S&M, M/M, Possession, Possessive Behavior, Public Claiming, Scratching, Slash, Smut, Tattoos, bareback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmare_kisser/pseuds/nightmare_kisser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim wants everyone to know who Moran belongs to. And so he makes it permanent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proof of Purchase

**Author's Note:**

> A… kind of odd idea I had, but not really. Idk, it's mostly pointless smut because I felt like writing fisting and light dom/sub and MorMor, all for a change.

"Oh, look, Seb; your mark's faded again. Time to renew it."

Moran sighs gruffly. He's stretched out on his employer's desk as bare as the day he was born, his chin resting on his folded forearms, half of his shins hanging off the desk, his boss, fully clothed, kneeling over him.

He still wonders sometimes how he became the part-time lover of the most notorious criminal organizer in all of London, England, the British Isles, and most likely the entire world. How is it, while looking for a post-army job, he landed the gig of being this man's lead sniper – which, by the way, isn't legal in the least, Moran knows, and certainly isn't a clean job, and the worst part of it is that he likes it – and somehow, along the way, became the man's sexual toy?

No one else has this unfortunate position; so why does he? He was a colonel, for fuck's sake. Why does he take this puny guy's shit?

Oh… Right. Because Moriarty pays him enough for all the necessities: his flat, his food, his cigarettes. And, all right, Moran kind of likes it; he likes taking orders more than giving them, because handing over the reigns for major decisions is a load off his mind. It's best to let Moriarty tell him what to do, where to go, who to kill, how to be. It's best that way, because, then, Moran doesn't have to worry about being left to himself, because the last time that happened, he had a gun in his mouth, and he has whatever higher power to thank that he didn't go through with it.

Jim is violently sucking away at the skin of Sebastian's left arse cheek just beside the line between and just above where his thigh meets the upward slope of his arse. It's roughly the same place Jim always puts a mouth-formed bruise with biting and sucking until the platelets burst and spread out under the skin. It's his way of laying claim; if anyone else were to go to Sebastian for sex – although the ex-colonel doubts they would, because he isn't the most approachable guy in the world – they would see it, plain as day, right there. _Someone else's mouth has been here, and recently,_ it would say. _So don't touch._

It's after the mark is renewed that Jim gets to work binding Sebastian's ankles and turning him on his side and handcuffing his wrists to the desk by using one of the legs. "You would think I would just get a fucking tattoo of your name on my ass after all the times you've marked it as yours. 'Property of Jim Fucking Moriarty, so back off,' or something," Sebastian snorts sarcastically.

"Not a bad idea, sweetheart," Jim muses with a devilish grin. "Then you would be more much more inclined to never be with anyone but me, because my name would be on you, a proof of purchase of sorts. Ah, yes; I quite like that. And I could get a matching one, if you like, right on my arm, where my more casual wear will expose it: 'Owner of Sebastian Moran.' Yes, that sounds like a splendid idea. Sometimes I wonder if you're the genius or not between us, Sebby."

Moran could smack himself. Fuck. He just made everything worse. Now he's going to have to go into a tattoo parlor and have it done. Pull down his trousers and stick out his ass and say, 'Yeah, one tattoo, please, just black ink, thanks, and yes, that's correct, I want it to read 'Property of James Moriarty.' I know, I know; just fucking do it and get it over with, bub.'

Yeah, fantastic. That will be so much fun. Why the fuck did he open his stupid mouth at all?

Jim casually removes his tie and blinds Sebastian, and it's after all these small touches and pent-up anticipation that Sebastian is squirming in place on the desk, his erection clenched tightly between his thighs as he bunches himself on his side as much as possible, knees drawn up and head angled toward his heaving chest.

"Aw, don't try and hide it, Seb, you know that never works~," Jim teases as he walks around the desk, skimming two fingers along the curve of Sebastian's testicles, arse, spine, shoulder. He tsks loudly and stands in front of Sebastian, rolling him with little effort (Sebastian complies and does most of the work for Jim the second he feels the nudge) to lie on his back, his legs parting, knees bent into the air, feet overlapped almost insecurely where they rest flat on the wooden surface.

Jim stoops upside-down over his employee and runs his teeth along the stubble on Sebastian's jaw before angling his head forward, Sebastian groans and tilts his head back, allowing Jim to suck at his Adam's apple. Then Jim abruptly stops, as is his way, and Sebastian sighs through his nose in irritation as he awaits whatever comes next.

As it happens, Jim has moved on to oiling the rifleman's navel and chest, rubbing over and over before scratching, hard, all the way down the skin until it turns puffy and pink, and Sebastian is arching up into those sharp, unyielding fingernails, and feels his prick twitch against his stomach.

He feels bites along his inner thighs, and he lifts his feet into the air, feels Jim hold up the backs of his knees as he presses up and leans his legs down toward his body, exposing himself for Jim to bite at his arse and lick around his hole.

Sebastian shivers and trembles and spits out curses while he still can before Jim deems him too noisy and gags him with a sock or something else at hand.

"You want to be penetrated, now, don't you? I've conditioned you like Pavlov's dogs to salivate for it, to only come when I'm fucking you. Isn't that right, Seb~? You like being my bitch, don't you? No, of course you do. Your arousal is in neon lights all over your body." And to prove his point, he climbs onto the desk and spreads Sebastian's legs until they are hooked around Jim, and then he nips at Sebastian's erect nipples and, for once, goes as far as to dip down and take the head of Sebastian's dick in his mouth, working the glans with his tongue.

He somehow got his hands slicked in the meantime – Moran doesn't know, he can't see anything but blackness – and feels them prod at him, and he willingly opens himself up to it, the feeling of fingers slipping inside him, thrusting and rotating, slipping in too many too soon, making him stretch and burn a little, but it's good, pain is good, because without it, he wouldn't hardly feel a thing, he's become so callous to pleasure.

"Do you want my whole fist, Seb? I have three fingers in you right now, and I think you're up for a little more today."

"Mhmn," Sebastian hums, incapable of speech.

"Oh, goody," Jim replies, and Sebastian can _hear_ the fiendish grin in it. "Wonderful. You're such a good boy, Seb; you can take so much. God, your body. It's all hard muscle and scarred flesh. I love it. But only I can love it; no one else can have it. Do you see why I need to get you that tattoo as soon as possible, Seb? Without it, all sorts would line up to snatch you away from me. You look like you are: you've seen war, but that means you can take a good fucking without whining like lesser people would."

Moran grunts. It's not like he can agree or disagree without punishment; and he's rather not be spanked today. He hates being spanked. Scratches he doesn't mind; bites he even likes. But spanks sting and make him feel raw in a bad way, but he gets them if he says or does something Moriarty doesn't like. So he's learned not to fight it so much, and to always be nonchalant, letting his boss do as he pleases.

"Ooh, looky: got my fourth finger in, now. I'll rub you a bit with my thumb before putting it in, too, and fisting my hand for you. But you're almost ready so soon, and that means we'll have some quick fun before we have to go back to work."

He feels it, the circling feeling of Jim's thumb around his entrance, as much of it as Jim can comfortably touch. Jim's free hand must have the bottle of lubricant nearby, too, because he suddenly feels more of it being poured on him, Jim's hand retreating to collect it before pushing back in, this time with his thumb, and he wriggles his fingers gently, making Sebastian grit his teeth to keep from crying out – he'd rather not have the gag this time, either, come to think of it – and feels his prostrate being struck a few times before Jim fists his hand and he's sucked in to the wrist by Sebastian's body.

"Ohh, lovely. I've disappeared inside you; you're such a good boy, able to take so much of me, Seb. Remember the time with my cock and the dildo both inside you? We might need to try that again, but make it a vibrator this time. I bet you'll come for _ages,_ until you're _sore_ and are begging to not come anymore," Jim purrs almost in the rifleman's ear as he leans up and presses a kiss to Sebastian's chest, teeth scraping and tongue flicking out before he retreats and shallowly thrusts his fist a centimeter in, a centimeter out, just enough to expose a bit of his hand beyond the wrist before pushing back in to the compact heat of Sebastian again.

Sebastian moans lowly and works his hips around Jim's fist until Jim doesn't have to move at all, and feels the contractions around his knuckles, and Sebastian starts babbling, "Fuck, Boss, I can't, shit, I need, dammit, I want, guh, uh, oh fuck, I just, please, take it out, fuck, I'm so full, I need it out, I need your dick, shit, _shit._ "

"What was that, Seb? What do you want? Tell me what you want, and if you say it nice and dirty, I might comply," Jim taunts.

"Dammit!" Sebastian growls. "I need you to fuck me, Boss, please! This is too much and not enough and _Christ,_ do I need to say it again?"

"Oh, I suppose that'll do," the other man sighs. "I was hoping for something along the lines of, 'Please, Jim, slick up your cock and put it in me before I fall to pieces under the grace of your hand,' but that will do for now."

Moriarty turns his fist gently before loosening his hand and removing it digit by digit. Once it's out, he wastes no time in unhooking his belt, unzipping his fly, and freeing his member from his trousers in three swift movements. Then Jim lubricates himself and watches with a lick of his lips as Sebastian's hole slowly relaxes to a smaller opening. He slides in his prick smoothly while it's still dilating, and feels Sebastian tremble form the inside out as he bares down and twitches, sucking Jim into him.

"You love taking my cock more than anything, don't you," Jim states more than asks. He hums contentedly and starts pumping his hips forward and back, pulling out to nearly the head before pushing all the way to the hilt back inside Sebastian's body, relishing the feel of the other man around him. "Mm, I love it, too. You feel so good. I'll keep you around a while longer, I think."

He never holds back. He pounds almost painfully into the sniper and clamps his hand over Moran's mouth to keep him from screaming his pains and joys in the office; others might hear and walk in, after all.

When Moriarty has had his fill of releasing his load inside his subordinate and relentlessly pounding the man's prostrate until he can watch him come on himself, he pulls out and unbinds Sebastian, leaving him to clean himself up like a big boy.

Then he watches Sebastian get dressed, still shaking, and looking a bit sore and tired, but willing to press on because he knows it's what he has to do.

"Hmm. You know, there's a nice tattoo parlor down the street, if you would like to get that done now, before it slips my mind."

"Fine," Moran sighs dejectedly. Moriarty smiles.

"Then let's go~!"

…Thirty minutes later, Jim has his hands around Sebastian's arm as they walk together into the parlor and Jim informs the tattoo artist precisely what he wants done, where, and how he wishes to oversee both tattoos to make sure they are right.

Sebastian hardly makes a face, keeping himself schooled into indifference, and once he limps out of the place with Jim in tow, he wonders again when he lost control of so much in his life that he belongs so thoroughly to his strange, twisted man beside him.


End file.
